Unbearable Separation
by Rae Carson
Summary: End of book 6. Harry at last gets to see Sirius again; only after Voldemort successfully disarms and kills him! He also finally meets his family; will Harry stay where he is wanted, or go back to where he is needed with his friends? Only he can decide.
1. An Unbearable Separation is Forgiven

Harry was standing rigid in front of the veil. Lord Voldemort had just blasted his wand from his hand so now he was totally defenseless. Harry's head was on fire, especially around his scar because of his close proximity to Voldemort. Sweaty and breathing hard, he stared defiantly at the Dark Lord with clenched teeth and fists, determined to face what he knew was coming next. Voldemort held his wand out at him and was smiling viciously...

_"AVADA KEDAVRA! "_, shouted Voldemort in a voice of utmost triumph. At the same time, Harry heard another, closer voice from off to his left that yelled, _"PROTEGO MAXIMUS!"_

From this point on, time seemed move in slow motion as Harry whipped his head around to the direction of the new voice. It was Dumbledore. He was holding a wand in each hand out in a defensive manner. Vaguely recognising one of the wands as his own, Harry had a feeling of hope blossom in his chest...somehow the headmaster had shown up, had known where he was and where to come...

Harry sensed more than saw three streams of light lancing through the air. Gold and red came from Dumbledore's direction, deadly green from Voldemort's. Then Harry half-turned as the strands writhed and braided together toward him as if they were alive.

The gold and red light managed to reach him split second before the green. Harry heard and glimpsed a crackling energy that appeared to erect a dome-like shield about him. Just as quickly, the final green one slammed into the shield, shattering it and swallowing him up.

Pain as he had never imagined surged all through his being. Each extremity burst with agonising flaming power Harry screamed louder than he had ever screamed in his life; the Cruciatus Curse was nothing in comparison to this kind of ferocious and devouring burning. Having been possessed by Voldemort last year, Harry wrongfully assumed he had experienced the worst kind of pain imaginable...

_Don't give in, _he thought_...I can't...I--I won't give in..._ Shaking convulsively, he felt his muscles spasm and started slowly sliding to the floor.

A horrendous, freezing, tearing sensation gripped his spine and radiated outward. It was as if a pair of gigantic hands was ripping through his skin to the inside. Utter terror consumed his mind as he realised what was happening; his soul was being wrenched from his body; every nerve felt as if it were being scoured by ice-cold razor blades.

Screaming louder, he tried valiantly to fight it, but nothing was left in him to fight with. It was only possible to feel complete suffering. _No...NO! _he thought miserably_..._his parents flashed into his thoughts_...I'm sorry, _he thought to them_...sorry, mum and dad...you died for nothing to save me... _He knew it was only a matter of time; he couldn't live long in this strange netherworld of terrifying heat and crippling cold, of fire and ice. _This is what it feels like to die..._

A dizzy floating-like sensation came over him now. It was most peculiar, this duality of being in two places at one time; falling to the floor and floating inexorably towards the doorway with the veil. After feeling that he had both crashed to the floor and passed all the way through the gateway, time itself seemed to halt for a second. Harry shut his eyes reflexively...he anticipated something big was going to happen...

Suddenly, everything exploded. It was as if his body had blown into a million pieces. A white-hot light surrounded and engulfed him.

Slowly, all the pieces of him seemed to blend back to a whole. At last Harry was no longer in pain, but he was still flying and was vaguely aware of a rushing sound in his ears. Gradually, his other senses came back into focus. Opening his eyes, he saw blurs of color darting passed him. Rather quickly, the rushing sound in his ears sorted itself into voices and the blurs of color sorted themselves into pictures.

The pictures were moving and being accompanied by the cacophony of voices. They were like living snapshots, moments of Harry's own life being replayed over in front of him.

_Dudley punching Harry for trying to talk about Lily and James...thousands of letters from Hogwarts pouring into the Dursley's living room...the bludger breaking his arm and then him catching the snitch...fighting the boggart-dementor with Lupin...setting Sirius free with Buckbeak...Hermione punching Malfoy...seeing his parent's ghostly forms over the graveyard where Voldemort returned to his body...using the Summoning Charm on the Triwizard Cup and escaping Voldemort with Cedric..."I will not tell lies" scored into the back of his hand and bleeding...teaching the D. A. members the Disarming Charm in the Room of Requirement...Sirius falling back through the black veil and disappearing...Ron burning off Malfoy's hair and eyebrows...dancing with Ginny Weasley and bending down to kiss her...Sirius playfully telling him to stop reminiscing about his girlfriend and that it was time to follow him now..._

Hang on a minute. Harry automatically realised this never could've happened. His godfather hadn't even been alive when he started dating Ginny. Open curiosity caused him to fly directly through the window of this false memory...

Gliding to a halt in midair, he gazed intently at the image of Sirius. His godfather's arms were folded and he was standing stock-still with a welcoming smile on his face.

Harry felt his feet gently hit floor. Gleaming white walls with matching doors coalesced in front and back of them both, stretching as far as the eye could see in either direction. Uncertain, Harry approached the figure in front of him.

This was Sirius as Harry had never seen him; not only was he grinning happily, but the ever-present gaunt, hollow look was completely absent from his face, and his frame was filled out which resulted in him looking more youthful than ever. It was almost magical seeing him again, for nearly a year had passed since he had fallen through the black veil. Harry had wished for a moment like this countless times in past months, when he could only talk to the man who stood in front of him, even if it was just to say goodbye.

However, this would not happen because Harry knew from past experience that memories, regardless of origin, could not be changed or interacted with. Despite the sinking feeling in his chest, he felt an irrational impulse to speak to this statue-Sirius and gave in to it.

"It's too bad you're only a memory," Harry said, his voice fading, "'cause then I could ask you why you're wearing white robes," he finished, a smile sliding off his face.

"While I admit it's not my best colour, I do think I look rather dashing, don't you?" asked his now-unfrozen godfather. Harry gasped and jolted backward, stumbling a step.

"SIRIUS!" he cried, while his heart filled with so much emotion he nearly choked. Rushing forward he seized Black in a fierce bear-hug, nearly knocking the pair of them off their feet.

"Whoa!" Sirius bellowed happily, "you're stronger than you used to be."

Harry clenched his eyes tight shut as fists constricted on his godfather's robes. Despite the reassurance of actually being able to physically touch Black, Harry found he could not let go. Several moments passed, the only sound being Harry's tortured breaths.

"Are you all right?" asked Sirius in a concerned voice when Harry failed to respond.

He did not know how or why, but he was finally seeing his godfather again. There was so much Harry wanted to tell him, so much he wanted to say that he didn't know where to begin. This was all impossible, and yet here he was, holding onto Black as if he were never to let go. He didn't dare speak for fear of shattering the miracle of being in Sirius' presence once more.

Sirius gently prised Harry away from him, set his hands on his shoulders and peered worriedly into his godson's eyes.

"Are you all right?" he repeated, more deliberately this time.

Harry looked down at the floor and shook his head furiously. A drowning wave of guilt washed over him as he felt his godfather's gaze. Experiencing this much care and concern from Black even now was incomprehensible, especially since it had been Harry's fault he'd died in the first place, Harry's fault that Bellatrix Lestrange had snuffed out his godfather's life in the Department of Mysteries last year...

If only he'd tried to continue Occlumency and fight off the fake visions Voldemort had sent him, if only he'd done a thousand other things, he'd still have Sirius with him. After all that had happened, Harry felt as if he didn't even come close to deserving this man's love.

He backed away from Sirius' grasp, felt wetness prick the corners of his eyes. Maybe Sirius wasn't cognisant of the fact...maybe he didn't know Harry had summoned him to death, however unwittingly. Harry knew he needed to say something, needed to apologise, for he might never get another chance again. Rolling his hands into fists and closing his eyes, he continued looking down while he screwed up his courage.

"I....I'm sorry..." he began, and faltered.

"Come again?" said Sirius encouragingly.

Taking a deep breath, his eyes swimming now, Harry plunged forward. "I'm so sorry for getting you k-killed. I...I didn't know Voldemort was sending me f-false dreams of you being t-t-tortured...I thought I w-was coming to save you, but you had to come and s-save me instead, it's all m-my fault you came for me..." his voice cracked and he could feel hot tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

Sirius' breath caught in his throat and Harry, at last, looked up into his gray eyes. "Harry, I had no idea you were carrying the guilt of my death on yourself for this long, "he said in a gravelly tone, "if I'd have been aware....." his voice trailed off and he blinked painfully, tears shining in his eyes to mirror Harry's own. Holding hands out imploringly he continued in the same tone.

"Believe me when I tell you the only people responsible for me being killed are my cousin, Bellatrix and I. Bellatrix is because she held the wand and sent the curse; I am because I failed to take advice or heed warnings when I was told. Remember Kreacher? Dumbledore was quite right when he said I should treat him kindly, but I did not. As a result, Kreacher offered his services elsewhere and deceived us both. I believed him nothing but a burden, and you believed him when he told you Voldemort had taken me. When Snape informed us in the Order that he assumed you and your classmates had headed to the Ministry of Magic that night, I was told by Dumbledore to stay behind to inform the others who were arriving later. Again, I ignored his warning and left the sanctuary of Grimmauld Place, _of my own choice. _It had nothing at all to do with you, Harry. Nobody forced me to do anything, the fault lies with me."

Of course Harry had heard all type of reassurance like this from his other friends and teachers. Dumbledore himself had explained to Harry about Kreacher, but at the time, listening to people saying anything critical about his deceased godfather had been too painful, as if the memory of him was being slighted. Professor Lupin had also tried to explain that Sirius was a man of action, and was incapable of sitting still, but Harry had found it impossible to accept. Hearing it directly from Black was different though, and he felt the heaviness across his chest lift slightly.

"But...but it was _me_ who failed to practise Occlumency on my own," he persisted, still confused, "_me_ who believed Kreacher when he told me you were abducted, _me_ who believed the visions Voldemort sent, _me_ who assumed Snape didn't care when I told him you were being held in the Department of Mysteries—"

"Harry," Black cut him short in a voice of desperation, "listen to me _please_. There are some things you must understand. Stepping toward him, Sirius placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and kept speaking.

"Even if you had tried continuing Occlumency alone, you could never have grasped it; it is not something people can pick up by themselves. Yes, some learn more quickly than others or have better abilities," he added, "but it requires the student to have an accomplished Occlumens to instruct them, and for that you had naught, as well I know. I daresay that if it were a common gift, more people would undoubtedly be able to do it."

Sirius sighed heavily, but prolonged his speech. "Even grown witches and wizards rarely achieve mastery of the subject; the only two known pupils at Hogwarts to have ever managed this feat while still at school are Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle. You and your friends are the only other ones I have heard of to even attempt it, "his godfather said meaningfully.

Absently, Harry unclenched his hands and flexed his fingers while wiping his eyes. _Could this really be true?_ he thought wildly, then slightly reassured, _of course it is, Sirius has never lied to me before._ The tight knot that had gathered inside him during this encounter started slackening again; his brows contracted in concentration as he finally began to understand.

Sirius then rested his other hand on Harry's opposite shoulder, making sure he was square with his godson, and Black blazed a look into Harry's face as if to slice him to the quick.

"Most important of all is this, "Sirius emphasized, fingers clamping onto Harry's shoulders. "Had you been able to master Occlumency, it would not have mattered in relation to what happened with me. Sometimes certain incidents are supposed to occur at certain times; this is regardless of the sequence of events leading up to the occurrence. My death was one of those incidences, and even if I failed to go to the Ministry of Magic, it would have taken place anyway, in spite of where I was, who was with me, or why." Dropping his hands from Harry's shoulders, he folded his arms and continued to look at him intently.

"I know it seems odd, for why would one who was young be slated to die? I'll tell you. It has been my blessing and my curse to possess a restless spirit. Never once was I ever satisfied to sit complacently while others around me bustled about doing things. I took when I should've given, walked away when I should've stayed, and was cruel when I should've been kind, far too many times in my life. It was bound to catch up with me sometime, and it did—sooner than later, that's all. So you see Harry, nothing you could've thought, said, or did would have prevented my death from happening, because it was _meant to be,"_ Sirius finished deliberately.

Finally, finally...Harry felt the terrible weight of guilt lift from him completely. Sweet understanding swept over and through his body; cleansing him of the burden and shame he had carried for so long. _It really wasn't me, it wasn't my fault...it never was..._he thought with blessed relief.

Sirius turned and started slowly pacing, and then stopped, facing away from Harry. "The reason I knew you must have all this explained is that I have personal experience of feeling exactly the same way."

He quietly continued, "I had a similar burden upon myself for nearly 15 years after your mother and father were both murdered, because it was _me_ who insisted Pettigrew should be secret-keeper for them," he said, facing Harry's direction again.

Harry felt a rush of gratitude and empathy for his godfather and reached out to touch him automatically. Sirius lifted his arm and clasped Harry's hand in his own. Mutual understanding flowed between them, reaffirming their connection of friendship and brotherhood. Sirius didn't hold Harry responsible for his death any more than Harry blamed Sirius for the death of his parents.

"I'm glad to see you've forgiven yourself, at least—for right now," Sirius said, the old familiar twinkle back in his eye. "It was something I never learned to do while I was alive, and something I could not have instructed you to do unless you were here."

Harry looked askance at Sirius. The incredulity of the surroundings jolted him back to...what? Not reality, surely. "Yes...speaking of which," Harry said, contemplating, "if you're not a memory of mine, what is going on?" Then a horrible thought struck him. Maybe this wasn't real.

"I''m...this isn't a dream, is it?"

"No, Harry. This is not a dream. Although for your sake, I wish it were," Sirius said dubiously.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, getting confused again.

"It means," Sirius said, pacing again, "that as gratifying as it is to be with and talk to you again, I wish it were under much different circumstances."

Harry's eyes widened. Something was nagging the back of his brain, and he tried, unsuccessfully to squash the thought.

"Sirius, what is this place?" he questioned, a note of fear creeping into his voice, "and why are we here?"

"Well, Harry, I was sent to you here for guiding and reassurance; my appearance was never meant to distress you," he said apologetically, after stopping his pacing.

"Guiding and reassuring me? But what for? Is this some sort of alternate reality or dimension?" Harry demanded, feeling real panic rise within him. He knew he was grasping at straws; he just couldn't bring himself to give voice to what was rapidly becoming the only explanation for his arrival here, and the presence of his deceased godfather.

"Harry, be honest with yourself," Sirius admonished. "What do you remember before coming here?" he asked. "Do you know what you were doing straight before seeing me in this hall?"

Harry thought back rigorously, squinting in concentration.

"I remember flying...some sort of...explosion..." he recounted disjointedly, holding a hand to his forehead, "...a painfully bright light...remembering parts of my past—it was a lot like Dumbledore's Pensieve...and then...you—here. That's it," he finished lamely.

"Nothing else?"

Harry wracked his brain.

"No, nothing," he said miserably, as if he'd failed Sirius somehow.

"I see," Black said contemplating. "We were afraid something like this would happen. Apparently, your mind could not deal with the trauma of the separation of body from spirit," he said calmly, as if discussing weather patterns.

"Sep—"Harry tried to ask, his voice gone. He gaped openmouthed at Sirius. So, he had been right. The real reason he and his godfather were here was—

"It's because I'm...dead......isn't it?" he said with finality, suddenly finding his voice.

"What is, Harry?" said Sirius patiently.

"The reason we're here is because I...I'm _dead_," he said numbly.

His godfather looked at him with undisguised sympathy written in his eyes.

"Yes," Sirius said quietly, voice coloured with emotion.

Being with Black again had been nearly overwhelming; but Harry was reeling with this second, bigger shock. He looked down and inspected himself for the first time. Harry was wearing white too, but his outfit was trousers with a belted long-sleeved tunic instead of robes. Instinctively he started patting his head, arms, and torso as if he might have been able to see physical evidence of the reason he wasn't alive any more. If only he could remember...

"Sirius, could you tell me—I mean—how...how did it happen?" he asked in a jumble, like saying it faster would make the question sound less terrible.

"I think that perhaps it would be best to show you, "Black said mysteriously, gesturing to the door immediately to the left of them.

Harry took a step and reached out tentatively for the golden door handle, held his breath, and gently pushed it open.

It was like watching cinema; the whole doorway was filled with what was obviously another memory, although one which Harry had not the ability to recall.

He watched himself pounding around the familiar hallways of the Ministry of Magic, as if trying to find something or someone...

Occasionally, he saw bolts of energy speeding at his form in the doorway; Harry recognised those as wand sparks. Then his blood ran cold as he heard evil high-pitched laughter issue from further down the Ministry corridor..._ I was chasing Voldemort,_ he realised with a sense of dread.

It seemed as if he watched his chase after the Dark Lord forever, until he saw himself run through the Department of Mysteries hall and through the black door at the end, following the cackles of laughter.

A feeling of ominous foreboding closed over him as he watched himself in that terrible series of rooms. Creeping silently into the room with the black veil, wand out, his memory-self slid slowly up the steps toward the veil and finally in front of it on the promontory. He witnessed himself shouting threatening challenge to his pursuant, Voldemort replying laughingly back from among the shadows. And then—

"_Expelliarmus_!" screeched Voldemort, unexpectedly Apparating in front of memory-Harry, and reality-Harry started as he watched his counterpart's wand soar sideways from his hand and clatter loudly on the floor. Wand raised high, the Dark Lord drew forward toward the unarmed Harry...

Something powerful stirred in the real Harry's memory; series of unclear images popped up in his mind rapidly, as if clamouring for attention. Without thinking, he pressed his hand to the familiar spot on his forehead, vaguely noticing something different...

Still watching the doorway, he saw Voldemort raise his wand higher; open his mouth to shout the curse...and suddenly, without doubt, Harry _knew._

His eyes darted to where he was sure Dumbledore would appear beside Harry's counterpart, two wands in his hand.

"Protego...Maximus," whispered Harry, with doorway-Dumbledore's shout.

A thousand memories slammed into Harry all at once, as he watched his other self fight the poison-emerald light of the Killing Curse, he crumpled with the impact of all he had seen and experienced the last hour of his life.

Sirius lunged forward and caught him expertly, as if he had anticipated what was going to transpire. Gently, he lowered Harry to the floor and leaned him against the wall and closed the open doorway. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes.

"You...you caught me like you knew I was going to fall," he said weakly.

"It was not entirely unexpected," Sirius explained. "Avada Kedavra can do that to people; it is the most cruel curse ever known or conceived. The body may eventually forget, but the mind and soul always remember," he said knowingly.

"Okay then?" he added, holding out a hand as Harry nodded, hauling him to his feet.

Then Harry remembered something else while lifting his hand to his forehead, fingers marching all the way across it. He turned toward Black, puzzled.

"Why is my scar gone, Sirius?" he asked, wrinkling his brow.

"Scars are of the physical world, Harry. Yours in particular was meant to distinguish you from all other individuals, as survivor of Voldemort's curse and mark as his equal. Here, we have no need for such marring attributes or reminders of affliction. They can be too easily masked or feigned as well. More satisfying means of recognition are practised than among mortal being." His godfather grinned.

"The biggest reason for this, Harry, is that every man, woman, and child is already distinguished, just by being themselves. No visible mark or object on anyone's person can show who and what they truly are; their uniqueness is only manifest in countenance and intent of spirit," he said happily.

Harry started pacing, hands clasped behind his back and chewing the inside of his lip.

"If that's true," he asked Black, "why am I still wearing my glasses? And why did I black out while I re-experienced the moment of my...er--passing?" He quit pacing and faced his godfather's profile.

Sirius turned and quickly closed the gap between he and Harry.

"Cottoning on now, aren't you," he said bluntly. It was a statement, not a question.

Harry blinked expectantly. He didn't have to wait long.

"You are able to feel these things," Black said anxiously, staring at his godson's face, "because they serve as reminders you alone remain in need of. For you see, the link between your incorporeal and mortal halves has not yet been totally severed."

Sensing his jaw drop, Harry backed up a few steps. This was too weird. First he's dead, then he's not, glasses still here, scar gone... A very unsubtle urge to yell bubbled up inside him, but he suppressed it. _Focus,_ he disciplined himself.

Okay, if he wasn't really dead, then perhaps he might be able to...but he didn't dare hope...

"Might there be a chance I could...maybe go back?" Harry asked urgently.

"It... is... possible, but exceedingly dangerous," Black warned, sounding reluctant to share this information.

"The bond you still share with your physical body is so tenuous, it might not stand up to the abuse, and could snap at any time during rejoining." He pursed his lips. "I don't even want to think about what would happen to you if that occurred," Black said with a wince, nearly shuddering.

"However, since the thin thread will eventually dissolve on its own; time is of the essence. So we will have to do it as soon as we are able, but preparations must be finished first."

"What do I need to do?

"Mostly observe, Harry. Observe and listen. Without doubt, this will be the hardest test of your existence, and you need to strengthen yourself. This is dependent on your personal resolve and stamina of character, and _you must be strong." _ He emphasized the last words with such furious intensity, Harry almost took a step back.

Nodding once, Harry tried to gather his resolve.

"Now please, follow me," Sirius said abruptly, turning and striding up the hallway, arms swinging.

24


	2. Refusion and Reunion COMPLETE

**NOTISE** Dear Readers, I would like to apologise for having put off the completion of this chapter for so very long. The place where I'd originally stopped was in the middle of poor Harry's lamentation. I have my own confession to make. Writing this genre of fic is very, very draining for me…and I had spent about a week personally dredging up all those emotions, so I could be able to accurately describe how Harry felt. I had my compy locked onto the most bittersweet PoA soundtrack songs that I could for inspiration…and quite frankly, it left me knackered. I cried for hours at a time in my bedroom, because I truly felt what our poor Harry was feeling, having never allowed himself to do this thing before. I must also admit it was an awesome experience, to feel this much for the characters I was writing through. But alas, it was too much. Evidently, I'm not as strong as iron willed Harry. I had to put off finishing it till later, when I was ready for some good solid crying again…)

I just need to take this time to thank the powerful all-encompassing and inspiring spirit of Harry Potter. Because blimey, are you ever a _strong_ person! I'm bowing unworthily...

BREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAKBREAK

"Where are we going, Sirius?" asked Harry, jogging a bit to catch up with his godfather's brisk pace.

"You'll see soon enough," replied Black.

Harry's mind was abuzz with questions and filling with even more as they walked. And walked. And kept walking…

He spoke up again. "Why is the hall so long?" he said behind Sirius' back.

"Many reasons abound to answer that question," Black said, still keeping up the speed walk, "and each has its own merits. But no theory is more prevalent than this: the longer the corridor, the longer your life."

Harry stopped dead. The implications of this statement hit him with almost physical force. Having realised Harry was no longer walking with him, Sirius slowed, turned around and said, "If you need a comparison, this corridor is more than four times the length of the one I passed through for myself."

Mouth agape, Harry stared at him. Four times longer! But Sirius had been born the same year as James and Lily Potter. Unlike his parents, Sirius had been dead only a year, which could mean Harry might live beyond 100. If the abnormal length of this corridor was representative of his life expectancy, Harry may yet stick around to be as old as...Albus Dumbledore.

"Of course, during a person's lifespan," Sirius continued, "the hall length also constantly changes, according to the choices he or she makes. Not every single choice made affects it; only certain ones during someone's life have a direct bearing. These choices are referred to as Paradoxical Points. Each Point is represented by its own Door, but not every Door necessarily contains a Paradox."

His godfather stepped toward Harry and tugged him forward gently.

"And as much as I know you require answers straight away," he went on kindly, "we really must get going. The most important answers will come—I promise you—we're almost there."

Sirius pointed back up the corridor; Harry could finally see the end of it. Turning around again, Black strode in that direction, glancing back to make sure Harry was following.

It felt to Harry as if he were ungluing his feet; after finding out the mind-numbing truth about the corridor, his soles seemed to have taken up root.

As he looked, Harry could see the end of the hall wasn't solid, nor was it a door. It was a shimmering veil, identical to the one he'd passed through in the Department of Mysteries—only this one wasn't ripped—and it was translucent white. Voices could be heard from beyond it, too.

Stepping off to the side, Sirius motioned him to go through the veil.

"You first," he said eagerly. "We musn't keep them waiting, you know."

"Keep who waiting?" questioned Harry. "Sirius, what're—"

"Go on!" Black answered animatedly, giving Harry a little push.

He glanced at his godfather and then toward the veil, inching toward it…now he was passing through it…

Harry had walked straight through the Mirror of Erised. Or at least that's what it seemed like until the group of people he saw shouted "Harry!" and rushed for him as one.

It was his family. All of them were present, to see him. The only time he had seen the lot was almost six years ago, in the Erised Mirror. Then, they had been mere ephemeral images, only capable of beaming smiles out at him. Harry had wished again and again he could reach through that magical glass; his mind knowing but heart not accepting the reflection-people were only to be seen and never, ever touched.

Now it was all indescribably and tangibly real. Harry's parents stood off to one side with Sirius as the rest of the smiling relatives came and introduced themselves. Everybody was speaking with raised voices, and taking turns hugging him, ruffling his hair, patting his back, or innumerable other means of affection.

"Hullo there," said a thin tall gentleman with silver shot through the temples of his black hair, "name's Harrison Potter—James' dad." He shook Harry's hand firmly. Then he raised an eyebrow at Black and said in a light tone, "Oi, you weren't joking, Sirius. This one's a right looker, he is."

Harry's eyes popped to the size of saucers. He looked over inquiringly at Black; Sirius, already smiling impishly, merely winked at him.

"Definitely takes after his father's side of the family," James chimed in proudly, causing Lily to make a sound of mock disgust and punch him in the arm. James sniggered with Lily.

"That may be true," cut in a tall older man with shoulder length hair the colour of honey, "but his emerald eyes are an unmistakable heritage from Lily's good looks."

As the man with light hair glided over to him and put an arm about his shoulders, Harry noticed he had twinkling green eyes.

"After all, he _is_ a grandson of Iris and I."

He gave Harry an affectionate squeeze about the shoulders and said, "I'm Joshua, Grampa Joshie thanks for you," he finished, a great grin upon his goateed face.

Being surrounded by this many people who cared for him caused the warm feeling in Harry's chest to explode with contented little tingles, which filled his insides—sort of like internal happiness fireworks. He had never felt so loved before, nor have truly believed it possible. Of course he'd had his dreams, but…

Also, no one had ever given him this many compliments on his particular combination of looks. With the sole exceptions of people telling him how much he resembled his father and some positive reinforcement from Ginny, the only things he'd ever heard about his looks were insults. Horrible thoughts of the Dursleys enter his head, and he squelched them with venomous enthusiasm.

Now, however, people were trying to take direct credit for why Harry was so "good-looking." Although undeniably flattering, it was also a bit disconcerting…he had never liked this sort of attention, and could feel a revealing crimson start to colour his face as he started darting glances to the floor.

Suddenly, a petite yet pleasantly plump woman with an auburn pageboy rushed forward.

"Oh, go on you lot," she said, "scolding" the men good-naturedly, "you're giving the poor boy a complex! Can't you see you're embarrassing him?"

"N-no, please. Really, it-it's okay," Harry finally spoke up quietly in spite of himself, a shy smile upturning the corners of his lips.

"I don't mind. W-well, not too much," he amended, after seeing the questioning glance from the woman beside him. He looked out at his family, from under his fringe.

"In fact, I don't believe I'd rather have it any other way," he confessed boldly, and grinned broadly at them all, then looked down and blushed to the tips of his toes. His Insta-burst of bravery dissolved on the spot.

"O-_ho_! Well, if the fruit don't fall far from the tree, Jim-boy," Sirius said enthusiastically, looking directly at Harry's dad.

"Apparently, he's more like you than we thought—if he "lurves" his ickle-attention so much!" proclaimed Black. Everybody laughed out loud, including Harry. Lily threw back her head and pealed out enthusiastic ha-haws. Harry's style of laughter was remarkably similar so his mother's, he noticed.

Now it was James' turn to flush scarlet.

"Wands and wizards," he cursed with a rueful smile on his face, "now look what you've made me do," he muttered to Sirius, sotto voce.

"What?" said Harry's godfather, in feigned innocence.

"Blush like a school-girl in front of my own son."

All his relatives guffawed heartily again, but Harry didn't participate this time. Instead, he gazed in silent wonder at his father. It was the phrase "my own son" coming out of James' mouth that had caught Harry's attention. He felt his heart flutter with excitement. He'd never heard anybody speak these words about him before.

Suddenly, James looked directly at Harry, and Harry drew a sharp intake of breath. His father smiled dazzlingly, and Harry returned the look in an instant. Amazing. _BRILLIANT_, this was incredible! He was almost dizzy with happiness.

Somebody slid an arm around his waist and he turned distractedly to look at who it was.

The small woman who had intervened on his behalf with the others spoke to him, her eyes round and bright.

"My husband's a big kidder. I'd imagine that's the reason why he and Sirius got along together the Potters so well after Sirius left Grimmauld Place." She stood back and surveyed him appraisingly.

"It is so good to finally meet you at last. Like Joshua said, I'm Iris, your grandmum. We've never met a grandson; we are so _proud_ to have you in the family—you're such a remarkable young man!"

"Yes he is," cut in another voice warmly from off his right. Rounding to face Harry directly was a woman with chocolate brown hair and eyes to match. Iris slid over to make room. He thought he could guess who this was.

"I'm Harrison's wife, Amanda—Gramma Mandy." Sliding forward, she placed a hand on either side of his face and smiled tenderly.

"You are a jewel among wizards, Harry. Each of us is more than happy to call you one of ours."

Gramma Mandy then hugged him tightly. He hugged her back, all the while feeling more and more accepted, wanted, appreciated. This was all mixing pleasantly with his awe and wonderment.

With each introduction, Harry felt those happy tingles spread through his body. Love and contentment as he had never known covered him like a cozy blanket. Harry looked around as the warmth within him grew to encompass everyone in the room.

Then a young man whom Harry recognised quite well disengaged himself from the group.

"All right, then Harry?" Cedric Diggory said conversationally.

Harry didn't know what to say. The last time he had seen Cedric alive was straight before witnessing Lord Voldemort's return. The unpleasant picture of Wormtail ending Cedric's life with the Killing Curse flashed painfully across Harry's mind. He flinched involuntarily. Even after all this time, it was torture to think about. One more death he had been powerless to prevent…

An awkward silence fell between the two of them, but Cedric paid no heed.

"I asked your family if I could be here. I wanted a chance to thank you in person for what you did for me at the Triwizard Tournament that night. You'll never know how much it meant to me, or my parents."

He reached a hand out to Harry; Harry mirrored the gesture and Cedric grasped his forearm up to the elbow. He shook firmly.

"Thanks, mate," Cedric smiled, eyes shining.

Harry took a shuddering breath, and steadied himself.

"You would've done the same for me, Cedric Diggory," he replied with assurety, returning the smile and handshake.

"Of course," returned Cedric, without a hint of hesitation. He nodded once, letting go of Harry's arm.

At long last, Harry was able to face his parents straight on. As he turned, the crowd parted magically between the three of them.

First, he stepped toward them timidly. He looked his mother in the eyes, and read the unspoken wish there. Then, as if on casters, he rushed for her…Harry didn't know what had come over him…as Lily held out her arms…

They embraced each other simultaneously. Lily leaned back, looked into his eyes, which so resembled hers, and reached out a delicate hand to his face. Caressing the place on his forehead where the scar once was, she leaned forward and gently kissed it, as if he were a small child, finally removing the evil "hurt" permanently.

Next, she tenderly held his head to her shoulder and stroked the back of it. Though he was taller than her, she rested her head against his, and held him.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered in an almost disbelieving voice, "my boy…my son….my child…." her voice broke and Harry could feel her body start to shake with crying.

"I've missed you so…so very much..." she went on tearfully, still embracing him.

"Mum," he began, intending to comfort, talking into her shoulder. Then he found himself drowning in his own sea of intense emotion. His eyes squeezed together tightly against the pressure. A tidal wave was building behind his façade, and Harry held Lily closer impulsively.

No, it wasn't supposed to happen like this…finally able to see his mother again, and now he was messing it all up making her cry. Harry instinctively moved his own feelings aside to reassure Lily. What he'd wanted to say was, "It's all right, I'm all right, and I've also missed you."

But Harry was not all right—had _never _been—and deep down, he knew it. Instead, when he opened his mouth, it was as if a dam of pent-up feelings would burst forth. For the first time ever, Harry contemplated it might be okay if he didn't hold back…this once.

A great sob rent through him, and big tears sprang to his eyes.

Sixteen years of countless repressed emotions festered in his core like an infectious bane. It seethed and writhed, causing an excruciating sensation in his chest. And Merlin, it just _hurt_…he could hardly breathe for the strain.

It stuck in his throat; Harry wasn't sure what to do as this was something he'd never even considered allowing himself to experience fully before. He stood poised on the abyss of despair-or-reconciliation, yet had no idea how to fly across it. Surely he would fall if he dare left the edge.

Yet if dangerous feelings were poison, pure and unconditional parental love was its antidote. Lily's transformation from being consoled to acting comforter was instantaneous, and a miracle to behold. She gently removed his glasses—as they had fogged up—and peered into his eyes.

"Dearest Harry," she softly said, "I understand...please, you can let go of it now…just…let…go…."

Harry sensed his dad come up behind him, and place reassuring hands on his shoulders.

This simple gesture of love seemed to have completed the circuit somehow. A lightning surge swept through Harry, finally releasing all his inner torment as a hurricane. Once started, he was powerless to stop it, and succumbed fully to the crush.

Bitter, hurtful sobs wracked his form as he felt to be reliving every grief-stricken moment of his life at the same time.

He stood there, as his mother rocked him back and forth, back and forth, to rhythm of his thoughts. James held him up….drawing out the poisonous dregs with a healing touch.

_ Abuse…becoming Dudley's punching bag and favourite scapegoat for the Dursleys…_

_Uncertainty…why did Dudley beat him, and why did his Aunt and Uncle never do anything about it?_

_ Stigmatization…he was mocked for his huge clothes, broken glasses, unruly hair, and being the only orphan student in his entire school…_

"Be sure it's okay…"

_ Neglect…no one ever asking him if he was all right, never caring if he was happy, healthy, or even alive…_

_Loneliness…no friends, no family who loved him, no one to talk to about anything, ever…_

_ Bitterness…Dudley always getting everything he wanted, whilst Harry got nothing…was treated worse than a servant and got locked in a small closet every night…_

"Don't hold back…"

_ Depression…what's the use in keeping on? It's not like he'd ever be happy, anyway…nothing to look forward to about life…_

_ Frustration…why wouldn't the Dursleys let him read the only letter he'd ever got?_

_ Betrayal…finding out the Dursleys had lied to him his whole life about he and his magical parents…_

"Need to see it gone…"

_ Lament…Hagrid telling him the truth about how Voldemort murdered James and Lily, but failed with Harry…_

_ Longing…why could he see his family in the Mirror of Erised, but not touch them?_

_ Humiliation…Snape forever saying churlish things to him in front of everybody in Potions, just because of who he was…_

"Have a good cry…"

_ Manipulation…Voldemort trying to trick him into handing over Philosopher's Stone by using images of his parents…_

_ Self-doubt…because he could speak Parseltongue, did it mean he was the infamous Slytherin's Heir?_

_Retaliation…blowing up Aunt Marge after comparing his mum to a bitch, and his father to a good-for-nothing unemployed drunk…_

"We're here for you…"

_ Rage…discovering his parents had been betrayed by best friend Sirius Black, resulting in their murders…_

_ Despair…the Dementors' presence summoning that last horrific memory of his dying mother's scream…_

_ Fear…who on earth put his name in the Triwizard Tournament, and why would nobody believe he hadn't done it?_

"Let it all go…"

_ Anguish…it was he who insisted he and Cedric each grab a side of the Triwizard Cup together…_

_Suffering…trying to stand up to Voldemort's repeated usage of the Cruciatus Curse against him in the graveyard with the Death-Eaters…_

_ Helplessness…clinging to a dead Cedric on the Quidditch pitch after being in the graveyard with Voldemort…_why _couldn't I have prevented this? _

_Isolation…it was bad enough 4th year when no one believed him, but this time none of his magical friends would tell him anything…_

"You can do this now…"

_Degradation… being treated as an addle-brained attention-seeking pariah by nearly everyone in the magic world after coming back from Triwizard with the truth of Voldemort's return…_

_Hatred…Dolores Umbridge making a mockery of Hogwarts…forcing him to score his hand by blood-letting quill hundreds of times…discovering she was the one who'd sent Dementors to Little Whinging…_

_Disbelief…watching Sirius's look of surprise as the curse hit him and he fell back through the black veil…_

_Agony…realising that his godfather was really gone, and would never be with him any more…_

"Out with the hurt…"

_Vengeance…wanting desperately to even the score with Bellatrix for making Sirius leave him behind…unsuccessfully sending the Cruciatus Curse toward her…_

_Resignation…being painfully possessed by Voldemort…wanting nothing more than to die so he could at least see his departed godfather again…_

_Indignation…first not being able to leave Headmaster's office…then finding out the true reason behind the prophecy…and realising Dumbledore had kept the truth from him for so long…_

_Crushing loss…nobody he could talk to as a family member for the horrid things he was feeling toward himself…_

"It's your turn, Harry…"

_Quandary…not being able to remember if he was the one who'd tried to kill the Dursleys in that car accident…_

_Indifference…coming to the near shocking revelation that he didn't care whether he was responsible for the car crash or not, after finding out Dudley had tried to kill him by ramming into his ribs during the crash…_

_Self-loathing…he didn't really deserve all the sympathy and attention from people since he was responsible for killing his relatives…feeling he was no better than Tom Riddle…nearly getting away with _murder…__

_Obsession…since his memory had failed him after the crash, he'd taken up to rushing everywhere near-constantly…but where was he running to…why…was he missing something…?_

"Been far too long, son…"

_Self-destructiveness…needing a way to distract his mind from consuming thoughts…and believing he should in some way punish himself for his terrible thoughts and actions, began lashing his arms and wrists…and nobody knew…_

_Homicidal anger…after nearly a year devoid of crucial pieces of memory, finding out who was truly responsible for making him feel so much horrible doubt toward himself…the party who was behind that mind-bending car crash…he wanted nothing more than to get even, nothing more than to find them to make them feel as much personal agony as they'd made him go through…he was standing over their prostrate forms, eyes flashing... wand raised high…_

"I ca…," Harry started to choke into his mother's shoulder, his voice cutting out as his feelings rose to fever pitch.

Lily held him tighter, and James responded instantly. "Go ahead, son. You can say it. Whatever you need to," he ended and began kneading Harry's shoulders soothingly.

"It's the only way for you, Harry," encouraged Lily.

"_I can't kill them,"_ rasped out Harry somewhere between defeat and relief.

"Of course you can't Harry…it's not part of who you are," said James assuringly.

Harry felt he finally had to say it. Get all this awful tearing ripping horror out _now…_but it was so hard…in front of his parents…

"But it _is_ who I am!" he gulped, "After they hurt my family and friends through me, I _wanted_ to kill them, wanted to see them _dead_…," his head fell back to Lily's shoulder and he cried into it, "it's why I thought I'd killed the Dursleys…I remember _wishing_ to have an accident, and then it _happened_," he faded off painfully, and shuddered.

"Oh Harry, there is a difference between passionate thought and action," reminded his mother. "Voldemort _knows_ this. He exploited it with you, by trying to remove the barrier between the two."

Everything washed over Harry again and he sobbed, "You don't understand. It's not just them, it's _everybody…"_ trailing off and taking a sharp breath he bore down.

James and Lily exchanged a look and his father said, "How do you mean son? We're here to listen, not criticise. You're okay."

Would he ever be able to explain it all to them? Still clenching his jaw, he gritted out, "All of them…_all of my closest friends…and… Cedric Diggory…and Sirius…"_ he choked, "but most especially _you,"_ Harry said painfully, looking up at last. "The only reason Voldemort hurt or killed any of you was because of _me…"_ leaning down into his mother's shoulder, he began to cry again. This was the most painful of all.

"None of it ever would've happened to you…" he continued as that last thing holding him back inside snapped. "If I wasn't around, I should've never been born, you'd all be alive if it weren't for me…_it's all my fault…"_ trailed off Harry in a croaking whisper, at last having nothing more to say. He was spent, this confession having drained all the energy out of him.

And still Lily and James stayed and held him, unafraid, non-judgmental; just doing that which they sensed he required of them. Father and mother, conductor and catalyst; fire and ice.

As Harry realised he'd felt this sensation somewhere before, phoenix song began to fill the air. At first he thought it only in his own mind, but it grew to encompass the whole room. It filled Harry's entire being, and he felt such sweet reassurance…like he could finally be calm. Like he really _was_ "all right" now. It wasn't merely contentment, but a true inner peace. Harry had never once felt this way before.

Slowly, he stepped back from his mother at this happy realisation. It still floored him; he could see his parents now looking serenely toward him.

"What is it Harry?" they asked, intently studying his reactions.

He held a hand to his heart and replied wonderingly, "Something…_good_…in _here_…no crushing loss…no more _guilt_…" at this, his parents beamed at him, "…what happened?" he asked, eyes luminous.

Reaching out a hand to place it on his shoulder, Lily said, "You've negotiated the abyss, Harry." Her bottom lip trembled as her eyes twinkled at him.

Then James stepped forward, raised a hand to Harry's face and swept a hand over one of his tear-stained cheeks. Rather than wiping it away, he held it out for Harry's inspection instead.

"Phoenix tears, son," James smiled knowingly. Harry contemplated the glistening liquid on a new light. "Love and forgiveness may repair and stop the aching void of hurt. But only these can remove the stain."

END OF CHAPTER


End file.
